The Calamity Janes

Sue Ellen and Donny were living in a small apartment in a converted garage just a few blocks from where Cassie had grown up. It wasn’t the best part of town. There had been little effort at upkeep and even less at landscaping. No doubt whatever money Donny earned went for booze, Emma thought, more sadly than cynically.

Emma knocked on the Carters’ door, waited, then knocked again. She was almost certain that she heard a faint stirring inside, but no one answered the knock.

“Sue Ellen, are you there? It’s Emma Rogers. I’d love to visit with you, if you have a few minutes.”

The rustling sound came closer to the door, but it remained tightly shut.

“I’m…I’m not feeling well,” Sue Ellen whispered, her voice hoarse. “It’s not a good time.”

“I’m not worried about catching a few germs,” Emma said, deliberately pretending to go along with the excuse but at the same time refusing to leave.

“Please, Emma, not now.” Sue Ellen sounded near tears.

Concluding that dancing around the obvious was accomplishing nothing, Emma asked bluntly, “Has Donny hurt you again?”

The question was greeted by a sharp intake of breath, then a sob.

“It’s okay, Sue Ellen. I just want to help.”

“You can’t. Nobody can.”

“That’s not true. Won’t you at least let me try?”

“I can’t. It will only make it worse if Donny finds out. Please go away,” she begged. “That’s the best thing you can do for me, Emma.”

Emma took a card for an abuse hot line from her purse, scribbled her own cell phone number on the back, and slid it under the door. “If you change your mind, call me or call that hot line. There is help, Sue Ellen. All you have to do is ask for it.”

Only the sound of wrenching sobs answered her.

“Call,” Emma pleaded one last time, then reluctantly turned and walked away.

She drove to Main Street, then parked in front of Stella’s. She needed to eat something completely and thoroughly decadent, some confection to remind her that life wasn’t entirely bleak. Bumping into a few of her friends wouldn’t hurt either.

Unfortunately, the only familiar face besides Stella’s was Ford Hamilton’s. Right this second, she would take whatever company she could get, if only because it would keep her from having to think about Sue Ellen.

Ford eyed her warily when she slid into the booth opposite him. Wariness quickly shifted to concern. “Everything okay? You look a little pale.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said grimly, then glanced up at Stella. “I want the biggest hot-fudge sundae you can make, extra hot fudge and extra nuts.”

“Now I know something’s wrong,” Ford said.

“Oh, why?”

“Because you strike me as the type who normally splurges on carrot sticks.”

“Well, now you know I’m not,” she said testily. “And if you’re just going to take digs at me, I’ll sit someplace else.”

He held up a placating hand. “Stay. I’ll be good.”

She wasn’t buying the promise, but she stayed where she was because she was suddenly too exhausted to move.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No.”

“Want to talk about something else?”

“Not especially.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Then you’re with me just because you prefer anything to your own company?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay. I can relate to that.” He picked up the New York paper he’d been reading. “Want some of this? Hard news? Features? Sports?”

“Business,” she said without enthusiasm.

“Checking on your investment portfolio?”

“Nope, checking to see if one of my clients made any headlines this morning.”

Ford’s eyes lit up. “Big case?”

“In some circles.” Despite herself, she began to grin at his obvious yearning to question her about it. “Go ahead. Ask.”

“What company?”

She mentioned the name of the software manufacturer.

Ford whistled. “That is big. I’ve been reading about it. Patent infringement, right?”

“That’s the charge. A former employee is suing them, claiming that they stole his idea then fired him.”

“And you’re claiming it was their property since he developed the idea while working for them,” he speculated.

“Exactly. And it’s not a claim. It’s the truth.”

“Still, it must be fascinating.”

Emma shrugged. Normally this case—all of her cases—brought on an adrenaline rush, but after her failed meeting with Sue Ellen, none of them seemed all that important.

Ford regarded her intently. “You’ve been to see your friend this morning, haven’t you? Sue Ellen?”

Once again, Emma was surprised by his perceptiveness. “How did you guess?”

“It wasn’t that difficult. Even after a couple of encounters, I can tell you’re the kind of woman who gets excited by work, yet I ask about the biggest case you’re handling and you shrug it off. That had to mean that something else is weighing on your mind.”

“Sue Ellen, Cassie’s mom—she was just diagnosed with breast cancer,” she explained when he regarded her blankly. “Then there’s my daughter’s unhappiness at the prospect of going back to Denver.”